Unexpectations
by ksg814slash
Summary: Brian and Justin, after a period of distance and uncertainties. How will they make sense of each other? Extra genres: adult, mpreg, new characters, post-series. *originally posted on Livejournal*
1. Chapter 1

Premise: Brian and Justin, after a period of distance and uncertainties. How will they make sense of each other?

Disclaimer: Underlying characters and plot used are from the series, not owned by me. Post-513 creations are self-imagined possibilities of a fan in love with the realness of history's best fiction couple.

**Chapter 1**

I ring the doorbell then step back, straightening my tie. My reputation is all in presentation, and it's _always_ the best.

"Oh, hello, Brian. I wasn't expecting you," Jennifer answers a bit surprised yet polite. We hug. "Please, come in." I enter, but stay by the door.

The house is crowded with appropriateness. People, pictures, flowers and finger food. '_Can't beat country club training_', as Justin used to say. Thoughts of her son leave as I offer a bouquet of white lilies.

"My condolences, Jennifer. Kitty was a lovely lady, and I'm not just saying that because she was my client."

"Thank you, Brian. I miss my aunt dearly, but she lived a wonderful life. And for her, the fondness was mutual." Jennifer turns to lay my gift on a table, a tear in her eye. She smoothes out her elegant black dress and pearls, to gain composure.

"May I offer you a drink? Scotch, neat, right?" I gently stop her from leading me out of the entrance, to the bar deeper in Kitty's grand living room. Boozing and smoozing with a bunch of phony flesh-bags isn't part of the deal. I liked Kitty, a lot, but her family leaves a dirty trick taste in my mouth.

"Actually Jennifer, I must head back to the office. I couldn't make it to the service, but still wanted to pay my respects."

"Oh, of course; I understand. It truly means a lot to us." Jennifer's warm smile jogs memories of another blonde. "I'll walk you out," she guides me with a hand on my arm. The years have given us one of those unique relationships you only find in America. Justin and I are no longer a couple, but his mother and I can't get rid of each other, thanks to her friendship with Debbie, her being my realtor and, eventually, Kitty hiring me. Having her in my life hasn't killed me yet, so I figure it's working.

"Mom, Father James is ready to- _Brian_?"

I whip around speechlessly to face the voice. Kitty guest appearing at her own funeral wouldn't even pull this reaction. Think of the Devil and he'll appear, I guess.

"Justin." There's my voice. A lifetime of success has made me a master at damage control. I shake off the shock. _Never_ look the way you feel.

Jennifer is caught in headlights. It's obvious, with all she's been through, she didn't think of this possibility. I don't blame her. She can't be guardian to my and Justin's non-relationship–we're adults. She stutters to apologize for the inconvenient awkwardness. My hand on her back tells her not to bother; she remembers her escape route, instead.

"I should go see what Father James wants." Coward. I stand tall in front of the only man to ever be my equal and exude the cordiality I use on potential clients.

"How are you?" I break Justin's trance. His pink, fluffy lips gape a couple times before his brain catches up.

"Good. Good. I'm good. Given the circumstances." At least he looks it. I know his art and New York are still a hit. Have been for a while. He hasn't changed much physically, besides the Adam Lambert-ish styled bangs. His face seems a bit fuller, but it works on him. I lock eyes with his deep blues.

"I'm sorry about your aunt."

"Thanks. I'm so used to her being here; I can't believe she's gone. After my da- Craig disowned me, she told me she stormed into his store during a busy clearance sale, and wrote 'Fuck You Nazi' on a $5,000 TV, in pink spray paint. She told him in front of his shoppers that 'only Nazis turn on their sons', and that he'd 'been marked'. It won't be the same without her," Justin smiles; I must say he's got a point.

"Well I'm gonna head back to work now, so..."

"Yeah, yeah, of course. How's Kinnetik these days? I see your ads all over Times Square. I'm proud of you." Justin's comment is sincere; smile genuine. I know he knows more than he claims to, after an '_anonymous well-wisher_' paid for the catering of our lavish "Kinnetik World" launch party last year.

"So am I. My original core staff's still putting up with me, but we've grown beyond expectation. As I always say: 'you can never be too big'." Justin's cheeks blush and I smirk with a straight face, feeling the connection we still have.

As we attempt farewells, a dark haired lady I've never met, with a wriggling baby in her arms, interrupts. I see some resemblance and assume she's some kind of cousin. She looks me over flirtatiously before approaching Justin. What is it with this family?

"Where's her bag? I think she's hungry." The 'she' in question is a tiny bundle of pink and blue, with curly light brown hair and a tan complexion, being passed off to Justin.

"In the kitchen; her bottle's in the fridge. Microwave it for thirty-seven seconds. Thanks Sarah," Justin commands graciously. He's trying to calm the baby down, and the bitch is having none of it. A fussy whine pitches, too new for a lot of noise but enough for attention.

"You are hungry, aren't you? Hmm? Yes, I know. I know. You're gonna get your ba-ba soon." Justin's cooing, smiling and soothing her in his arms, clearly forgetting my existence. For some reason, the exchange between them screams "routine". What's-her-name finally returns with something milk-like and hands it to Justin. She assures him she checked the temperature, before walking off. The nipple slides into the baby's mouth, and she sucks without abandon. She'd make a great fag.

"Still babysitting huh? At least Gus' no longer your last victim," I quip. I'll never deny how instrumental he is-_was?_- in my son's life–especially Gus' early years.

Justin looks up from "Ms. Piggy", as if seeing me for the first time. That look of discomfort means I'm missing something. I hope I'm gone before it's found.

"Oh God! Nobody _told_ you?" Justin is in disbelief.

"Told me what?" My eyebrows scrunch in pure confusion. I better Botox tomorrow.

"Uh, Brian," Justin says panicky, "she's my daughter." Next time Kitty dies, I'll mail my respects.


	2. Chapter 2

Premise: Brian and Justin, after a period of distance and uncertainties. How will they make sense of each other?

Disclaimer: Underlying characters and plot used are from the series, not owned by me. Post-513 creations are self-imagined possibilities of a fan in love with the realness of history's best fiction couple.

**Chapter 2**

"Come again?"

"You heard right. Her name is Nomine." My sad upbringing of Joan's Catholic prayers translates the name (_nuh-mi-neh_) as Latin for 'name'. He is _such_ a fucking artist.

Nomine drinks her last drop, sucking only air. Justin removes the bottle, and burps her one handed, against his shoulder. I'm too lost to be impressed.

"Brian? Say something," he bounces lightly in place.

"Um, _congratulations_? What the fuck am I supposed to say? You had a kid. Good for you." He seems a bit hurt, but fuck hurt. I have no desire to hear how he and some happy-little-homo-husband brought a new life into the world.

"Guess that's expected."

"It is what it is. You didn't think it was important to tell me before, no need now."

"Things were complicated. Besides, I figured Mom would've come home and blabbed to you, when I had her last month." He looks at me, then exhales. "I never planned to spring her on you like this. I didn't even think you'd be here today."

"Well Sunsh- Justin, you did. At least she's beautiful. I'd hate to have to tell you your baby's ugly, with the situation as it is."

He smirks, knowing I'm willing to go no further with this drama. He's been a man before he was ever a boy. This is his shit to handle, not mine.

"As I said ten minutes ago, I gotta go. Glad you're good. Take care of yourself, Justin."

"You too. Glad I got to see you, after all. Bye, Brian." Nomine burps as I open the door. The kid has great timing.

Back at Kinnetik, I force myself to be productive, but that _wench_ keeps polluting my mind. I'm not sure how I wanted our reunion to have gone- never thought of one before. A baby just seems like upping the ante. _Are we competing?_ No, we're nothing- have been for some time. Seeing him tonight brought home that point. Damn it, Justin needs to be less local! I'm getting PTSD.

I light a cigarette, allowing the warm nicotine to calm me. Breaking up seemed easier when we were still together. We ended our eternal engagement, on mutual terms, two years ago. We were playing the New York City/Pittsburgh game a few years prior, until our careers once again became the dirty mistress. Justin was exploding all over the country. I had the global market on its knees. We would've been a _mega_ force, had we stuck it out. Neither of us would afford the sacrifices to make it work, though. There was no other option.

We let bygones be bygones, and cut the cord. The change was sudden. One day we were us, the next day, _him_ and _me_. History wasn't saving us this time, it was officially over. Justin stayed away, knowing I would erase him from my life and move on–_complete_ dissolvement is still the only way I cope with losing love. I figure he visits and keeps up with our family. They silently agree to keep him out of my reality. Do they know about the baby? If they do, those queens are better at shutting their mouths than they used to be.

"Brian, Kyoto Visuals is on video conference," Cynthia barges in. The shit I let her get away with. "Those guys are serious. It's like one in the morning over there!"

"That's because their employees actually _work_ for their pay, a concept lost on my payroll of has-beens." I glare as she munches the handmade Swiss truffles on my desk. She smiles and takes the tray with her.

"Thanks Boss!"

I switch my brain to Japanese, then open my video phone browser. Kyoto's board of directors and I exchange greetings, before sharing files on their campaign's final draft.

A quarter past God-knows-when, I set the building's alarm. Feeling foggy, I detour from the loft to Britin, my hideaway for turmoil. Justin and I never settled our mutual assets. They've all been left as is, destined to be legal and fiscal blue balls if one of us kicks the bucket soon.

It's early September, but the remnants of summer blooms linger. The acres roll way into the distance of starry sky. I'm instantly comforted.

Inside, I unwind, in Justin's studio, with plenty to drink and little to wear. Being around pieces of his soul help me. I study my favorite, his self portrait, "Through Him". It's how he thinks I see him.

I keep an eye on his art world progress, for personal reasons. His fans and admirers assume he creates masterpieces through magic, but I know his origin. I remember his struggle, and know he fights and sweats for every victory his circumstances want to deny him. His art is him. He's his art. We're equals that way. Watching him succeed reminds me our time was never "wasted time". It added value. I'll always cheer for Justin, even when I neither speak to nor see him years at a time.

I wake up, hung over, to my phone dancing on the bed. "Whoever this is, please die as soon as possible," I hoarse out.

"Brian?" I sit up too fast to stay up, then groan. _Twice_ in twenty-four hours? _Really_, universe?

"Justin, _why_ are you on my phone at this barbaric hour?"

"It's almost five PM..."

"My point exactly. How can I get you off?–the _phone_ that is."

"Aunt Kitty's estate won't finalize for another week or so. I want to stay close to my Mom, but Molly home from school _plus_ out of town relatives make her house too hectic for a newborn." This sounds like a riddle? "I want to crash at Britin, instead of some hotel. Is that okay?"

"I've been free of you for two years, now you won't go away. You're like herpes." I lay across my bed, in a boneless heap. "What's ours is yours, so this call is pointless. You know the way. I'll be gone in an hour."

"I was just making sure you didn't plan on using it, or it wasn't being renovated or someth-" he pauses. "Wait. You're there now?"

"I plead the Fifth." I feel his eyes roll.

"Whatever. If it wouldn't be too much to ask, I'd like a hand when I get there. I'm sure you remember how many accessories tiny babies come with. Not to mention a bitch load of groceries."

"No can do, I might have plans."

"Since when do your plans occur before midnight?"

"Life's different without a ball and chain. You wouldn't know that though, would you?" I light my blunt, and blaze it to the gods, savoring Justin's misfortune. Any place outside New York is _my_ turf. He should've never crossed enemy lines.

"Save the act for your tricks; the material's old. Are you gonna help me or not?" I hear rustling through the phone, _she-terrorist_ must be winning another battle.

"Jesus Christ–just hurry the fuck up! And let yourself in. I don't need any loud noises." This weed needs to kick in already.

"YOU MEAN LIKE THIS?! THANK YOU BRIAN!" the twat screams in my ear and disconnects.

"Fuck my life," I mumble into my pillow, finally stoned. I stub the joint in the ashtray, scratch my ass, then pass back out.


	3. Chapter 3

Premise: Brian and Justin, after a period of distance and uncertainties. How will they make sense of each other?

Disclaimer: Underlying characters and plot used are from the series, not owned by me. Post-513 creations are self-imagined possibilities of a fan in love with the realness of history's best fiction couple.

***A/N: I'm glad you guys are enjoying this fic! I uploaded both chapters 2 and 3, today. Thanks to all of you for reading, reviewing, and following =). Also, this was originally posted on Livejournal, as kiera81487, where it's further along.***

**Chapter 3**

Sure enough, my migraine and I are woken by the doorbell. I stumble downstairs, almost losing my toes to "sober only" interior decorating, and open the door. All my senses are immediately _ambushed_. The bright sunset- what time is it?- burns my pupils, as a blur of blonde races past me. I hear a heavy _clunk_ and mentions of "pee" and "bags in trunk". Textured stone walkway pinches my bare feet. I taste the humidity in the air as it hugs my boxer-briefed body. The onset of a huge boner tents the purple Armani cotton. Unluckily for our neighbors, the properties are too massive for proximity; they're missing a free show only my pool boy and groundskeepers get to enjoy.

My biceps strain with the shitload of crap I took from his car, and I head to the kitchen to show them the floor. My arms and head fall to the marble island, praying for salvation. Justin walks in with a relieved sigh, clunking the plastic car seat beside me. _That's_ what the sound was earlier.

"Slushies are a _bad_ idea before a forty-minute drive, no matter how hot it is." He sights his stuff. "Thanks for bringing these in for me, you're a lifesaver."

"Can you please turn down your life? I already warned you about being noisy."

He grabs a mesh bag filled with vegetables. "Aww, look Nom-Nom: another baby."

I deny him the pleasure of a reaction by tuning out his sarcastic smile. Instead, I cruise his body. Nothing wrong with that. No different from touring a house you used to live in, or, better yet, a car you used to drive. Just curious to see how it's been since I had it. The pregnancy revelation justifies his extra pudge. He either didn't get very fat, or he's melting the pounds fast; a genetic perk I'm sure makes him enemies at his OBGYN. His ass sure seems to have put the LBs to good use. His appearance, on the other hand, says: "my closet is sponsored by local thrift stores." Big sunglasses, blue tank, grey board shorts and neon splattered ankle Chuck Taylors. New York can't solve everything, but at least he's pulling it off.

Back in the present, he's tossing a container of chive hummus in the fridge. I peek into the black contraption next to me to find Nomine, tucked in a green dinosaur blanket, yawning. Her big blue eyes briefly grab my attention and now yesterday's "beautiful" is upgraded to "_breath taking_". I see Justin's features all over her and figure her father back home must be hot too. Wonder why he didn't make the trip? He could've at least figured Justin would need an extra hand traveling with their daughter.

Nomine's yawn triggers my own and I feel beat.

"Thanks to your intrusion I'm still too wrecked to hit the road. My body needs proper rest in order to metabolize sex; I'm going back to bed," I smile innocently at the blonde by the stove. "I'm in the master suite. You and _that_ one must suffer in a guest dungeon."

"My daughter has a name, asshole."

"I know. It literally means 'name'. Think of that yourself, or did 'other daddy' see it in _Elle_ at the salon?" A flash of regret clouds his face at my last remark, but he changes subjects swiftly.

"Don't sleep too deep. Dinner's in an hour."

"How's that my concern?"

"You're practically anorexic! I'm grilling steak fajitas, with homemade guacamole."

"Sorry, I like my Mexican meat uncut. FYI: _this_," I slide my hand down my chest and abs, "is my summer body."

"How _is_ Javier these days? Still wearing those tight shorts? Tell him the landscaping's immaculate." Intuitive cunt. I grin tightly and head upstairs.

-  
My sweet slumber is interrupted by Justin's voice. I thought Hell started _after_ death. I crack a groggy eye and see him standing by the bed. His words make no sense to my brain, so I roll over and ignore him. A persistent hand shakes me this time. Patience was never a virtue to him. I'm gaining consciousness.

"Before you think of knocking me out: I'm holding the baby."

"A month in and your kid's already a pawn. Nice parenting."

"You're one to talk," he scoffs.

"Fuck you. Was there something you needed?"

"Fajitas are ready. Made margaritas too."

"You shove a dildo in your ear? I made it clear I wasn't doing dinner."

"Come on, you love my fajitas. I used peppers from the garden," he sings with a doofy smile on his face. I'm not amused.

"Don't make us eat outside. Alone. What if there're wolves?" He melodramatically clutches Nomine to his chest.

"Christ, you are such a bossy bottom."

"Funny, 'bottom' isn't how I'd describe myself the last time we were together." He raises an eyebrow in challenge. He still thinks about the sex we had?

My Judas stomach grumbles and my head hangs in defeat.

"Fine. Let me freshen up. I'll be down in a minute."

"I need to see you walk to the bathroom first. You might go back to bed." I've taught him well. I grunt and stretch on my way to the sink, closing the door behind me. "Take care of that boner while you're in there, or I'll have to set a plate for it."

-  
Dinner was delicious. I don't get much home cooking outside of Debbie these days. I sip my third margarita and let the icy fruity liquor coat my throat. The air adds warmth to our poolside lounging. I close my eyes and inhale.

"This drink's probably the gayest thing Britin's ever experienced. That's including the '2012 Orgy Olympics' we hosted during Pride."

"Don't worry, I added enough Patron to man it up," Justin lazily reassures.

I haven't heard a peep from the spitfire since her bottle and diaper change. She's balled up on his chest in a Mona Lisa onesie and cap, her fist at her mouth.

"She asleep?"

"Out like a light. I wanna grab her blanket though, seeing as her immune system's still too weak to fight for itself."

"Where'd you leave it?"

"No, I'll get it. I also wanna get those leftovers in the fridge before they go bad. Hold her?" The request startles my hesitant margarita mind. Justin lays her warm body on my bare skin before I can answer. "New baby" smell and powder invade my nostrils. My palm easily spans her entire back. She's really tiny.

Justin drapes the blanket over her, then kisses her head. I silently watch the intimate scene. The outside table and grill get cleared. Soon he's back in his lounger, refreshing our drinks. There was a whole pitcher. At least I'm helping him not waste it. I take a grateful sip, rubbing Nomine's back.

"Should you even be drinking? What about your breast milk?"

"Don't have any. Most men don't produce milk during pregnancy. My nipples did get swollen, and _really_ sensitive, though. I give her a special formula my pediatrician prescribes."

"I was a semi-dick yesterday. You _did_ drop a bomb on me, but she's amazing. Always knew you'd make a great dad; I'm never wrong." His face lights up and he shifts to his left side, facing me holding his daughter. "I'm happy for you." He traces her soft cheek, lost in awe.

"It means a lot hearing that from you. I wanted this ever since I saw you hold Gus in the hospital. We're nothing like the sacks of shit we got stuck with." The power of his words conjure up best forgotten memories. He and I started out differently, but reached the same outcome. Unlike our "fathers", we became real men.

"We aren't."

"Wish that was true for her son of a bitch _sperm donor_."

I wrongfully brush his statement off as an intoxicated exaggeration. "I'm sure hubby didn't mean to forget the dry cleaning. You'll forgive him when you get home, with extra Eskimo kisses," I tease. Justin's life can't be anything but über saccharine. I think of some poor foot rubbing tall-dark-and-handsome sucker, doting over his happy family. They'd be the younger, hotter, hipper, all around more interesting Mikey and Ben, minus the lesbians, child prostitute and conformity. Unshed tears tell me I'm way off target. Under the moonlight his eyes shimmer, like glass. I can tell his heart is just as fragile.

"I should take her in." He reaches for his daughter, unwilling to look at me. I block his advance and he re-sits numbly.

"You're just gonna piss her off before she's ready for her 2AM feeding. She's fine right here." He thinks I don't remember life on a newborn schedule.

"What's going on with you Sunshine?" My concern grows.

"Brian, don't. You lost the right to call me that," he whispers to no one.

"I haven't lost shit. We are what we are, doesn't mean we lost what we were. I've got a high enough blood alcohol, so tell me what's wrong," I demand.

His attempted at a lighthearted snort opens a hitched sob. My heart tightens as his head crumbles to his knees, toes perched on the cushion's side. Beautiful agony.

"I fucked up," he gasps. Nomine twitches an inch. I cover her ears with her cap and blanket, soothing her back with my left hand. My right pulls Justin's neck to my shoulder, forcing him to kneel on the slate ground at my side. Waking the baby is too risky for a full embrace.

"Shh, shh, shh. I got you, I got you. Shhh," I breathe into his ear. Gripping his neck, I think of every horrible possible scenario behind his pain. Protective rage fills me, but only the horse's mouth can tell his story.

"Sorry. I'm such a queen," he sniffles. I pass him the roll of paper towels by our drinks. Back on his lounger he faces me, hugging his knees. Aftershocks ripple his compact frame.

"Sorry's bullshit. Start talking." I'm boardroom serious. He knows better and opens his mouth. I nod encouragingly.

"Soon after you and I called it quits, the city of Atlanta commissioned me to work on their main stadium, the center of their re-imaging. They were arresting pastors and politicians weekly, and the country was disgusted. Even as the 'gay capital', centuries of being racist, chauvinistic, homophobes was biting them in the ass, and they desperately wanted to be seen as 'progressive' again. I moved there with the engineer and construction teams, for a number of months."

Kinnetik managed that entire campaign. We even profiled celebs explaining why Atlanta was somewhere people should care about. It consumed us for a year; we're still enjoying royalties to this day.

"All the major Georgia sports teams got involved. Some of the teams held their training camp at the stadium's complex, so I was introduced to tons of athletes, and even invited to watch games courtside." I took Justin to the Super Bowl once, and he sat in our box sketching the crowd. "One night, I was working late on a mural. The meaning just wasn't blending with the medium and it frustrated the shit outta me. The basketball team was leaving the locker room, and DeShawn Jacobs came over to admire my work. He saw the underlying themes of growth and rebirth and I was floored." His red tear stained face lights up a bit at the memory. "He put my mind at ease and we talked the rest of the night. Turns out he was an Art History major at Morehouse, but going pro kept him from doing anything with it. Before I packed up, he asked me to go to an art opening, and have drinks with him, that weekend."

Justin's story intrigues me. DeShawn is a super athlete- the LeBron James of his generation. He's been out the closet since college, and the number one NBA draft after graduation, signing a $700 million five year contract. I met him through the campaign, and he flirted his ass off. He was 6'6", with two hundred pounds of ripped muscles. He had cocoa eyes, huge firm lips, ass as chiseled as his abs and hairless milk chocolate skin, with his team's mascot tattooed across his back. His deep voice made the floor vibrate when he spoke, and he always flashed a pearly white smile. He would've been a "top ten fun fuck", but I never let bystander cock interfere with business, no matter how long and thick it swings in silky gold jersey shorts. Fucking the guy that cuts my check means money; his employee can't buy ad space. Knowing there's no happy ending, I wish Justin had heeded that mantra too.

"We completely hit it off. Every date was better than the last. We weren't a secret, but, because I hate feeling broadcasted, I made sure our PR people kept us off 'Page Six'. I returned to New York for my MoMA exhibit and we did the dual city thing. Not at all being a big sports fan, I only went to a few New York games for support," he rolls his eyes. "DeShawn surprised me at a few shows, adding a couple of my pieces to his collection. I really cared about him." He takes a deep breath. Nomine's drooling on me; she must be dreaming about food.

"He moved into my place during his off seasons, since art doesn't take breaks. Things were going good. I never expected anyone after you, I never felt ready, but he came, and we worked. Until..." He shakes his head, and turns his face to wipe his tears. I guess history just got painful. "Until I found out I was pregnant. It was around the Holidays. We were traveling between my Mom and his family and I felt _off_. I went for a check-up and a couple tests later: I was with child. Condoms just aren't made out of Teflon anymore." He pauses to stare at the sleeping guest of honor. He shakes his head.

"Of course, I was petrified! I'm petrified by a fresh canvas, or when a new show opens, or every time some guy grabs my heart. Fear is good for me. Having a baby's no different. I was worried about juggling my life. You remember how rapidly my career was moving," he looks at me. "I didn't know if it'd be better or worse, I just knew I wanted her. The moment I found out she was here, a beige dot on a color ultrasound, I loved her. I made that dot. We made her.

"I told DeShawn on Christmas. He was far from thrilled; I think he was expecting socks." I chuckle at that. Justin always had a quirky way of lessening his lemons.

"He told me: 'the timing is crazy'; 'a baby doesn't work into our picture'; I should 'take care of it'." Justin's trembling lips can't go on. I drag his chair closer for support. I can't imagine how fucked up this was for him. He looks over our monumental pool, begging for strength from anywhere. His voice is stripped, deep with tears, but his words survive.

"He, he just rejected our baby! Like she didn't matter! Like _I_ didn't matter! He put his foot down, threatening ultimatums. He said I'd never see a dime of child support, like I didn't already have billions in the bank.

"This went on a couple days. I finally admitted I was keeping Nomine. He questioned the paternity. I lost it," he shakes his blonde head. "Blame the hormones or nausea or frustration. I knocked him on his ass and got in his face. I said how dare he accuse me of being unfaithful. I told the motherfucker to pack his 'shit and get the _fuck_ out!' It was a bold move standing up to a man that bench pressed me sometimes as a joke. We were alone. He could've easily damaged me that night, made me miscarry. He didn't touch me though. I was too busy throwing his thousand dollar sneakers in the hall, and cursing him to Hell, to notice. Having your world rip to shreds with a 'Joy to the World' soundtrack is quite surreal." He takes a drink, hugging the full glass to him. I've not spoken two words since he started sharing. Even tipsy, I know he needs me to listen. It's all in past anyway. Nothing I say will undo anything.

"I'm just glad we weren't more public. The last thing I needed was 'baby daddy drama' reaching my clients and colleagues. He returned to Atlanta and fucked everything with a dick, I heard. His sex tape's nominated for an AVN. I only did interviews shoulders up, and my agent was a ruthless _hawk_ about which shots magazines could publish.

"Daphne, doing her residency in Queens at the time, was my backbone the whole pregnancy. Men weren't even allowed to ask me for the time." I share his chuckle. Daphne can be scary, but she's Justin's better half. "My Mom stayed through my last trimester and delivery. Aunt Kitty took a turn for the worst two weeks after Nomine was born, so she had to head back here to help out. Two of my friends even crash overnight, giving me a moment to shower and remember my name. Don't let her bite-size cuteness fool you, my daughter is one high maintenance queen," he laughs.

"People naturally suspect she's DeShawn's–I mean _duh_–but it's too taboo to mention, so they avoid the topic. Luckily, I can afford to be on my own. I have access to reliable help, and she travels with me to different projects. Mom and Molly are in love with her and Deb almost didn't give her back when we visited."

"The gang knows then."

"Yeah. Mom told Deb when I got pregnant, leaving out the uglier details. Deb then told the western hemisphere."

"Except me," I murmur.

"I wanted to tell you, Brian. As much as I loved DeShawn, I missed you so much. You were always my first–my best. Sometimes, I just wanted to hear your voice. Every day, I wondered how things would've been if it was _your_ baby I was carrying. I always imagined that for us."

"You know me well enough to know I'd be no less than ecstatic, but she isn't mine, Justin, and her father _wasn't_ ecstatic. It kills me that some big dick fucker and his bigger ego turned your dream come true into a nightmare, but it happened. You're stronger for it though, and, as a bonus, you got Nomine. DeShawn's the one who lost."

Justin nods and sniffles.

"You should've called me. Not just for the _Maury_ madness, but when she was born. I would've been there for you. It would've been hard, but I would've been there."

"Just like you always have. Remember that terrible write-up in the New Yorker?" I nod. "Three galleries pulled their offers to show my paintings, the _day_ it went online. I thought I was over. Then I came home and found a framed enlarged copy of the article leaning on the loft door. 'BEST HOMOSEXUAL' was logoed in huge orange letters across it. I hung it above my easel, and cried. Then I laughed. And that night, I painted _Victory_."

"Your first six-figure piece."

"All your fault," Justin grins. "You were always good to me, Brian. Teaching me to survive on my own; to rely on myself, and dodge the bullshit. When my hand was crippled and everyone else tried kissing it better, you put an electronic paintbrush in it and gave me back my art." A tear escapes and Justin looks at me. My throat constricts. Maybe this drunken trip through Christmas Past was a bad call. "There was no way I could've called you. I was so embarrassed about DeShawn 'knocking me up' and abandoning me, I thought you'd be disappointed in me. Like with Ethan," he chokes up. The name hardly stings now. Justin and I've lived on since his guest appearance. He's no threat.

"You're such a twatty twink." I affectionately smooth his hair. "You can't control the world," I softly remind him. "Before you leave this mortal realm, men are gonna let you down. The trick is to never let them keep you there. You didn't stay down. You saw the bullshit, escaped the brunt of the damage, and stayed strong for your kid."

"I did." He wipes his nose, looking at me hopefully.

"You did. And you can bet your next dye job I couldn't be prouder."

Justin guffaws into his tissue and smacks my shoulder. "I do not dye my hair! You _know_ this is my natural color."

"Easy! Baby on board," I point to Nomine, balled up on my chest. He rolls his eyes and kisses her tiny nose, resting his hand just under her padded diapered bottom.

"I should warn you, she drools like a walrus."

"Gee, thanks for the heads-up, but I've noticed." I pull Justin to my side, staring seriously into his eyes. "You're gonna wake up one day and know you won." He throws me his trademark Sunshine smile in return, and I know he'll make it.


End file.
